


Breathe Again

by herwhiteknight



Category: RWBY
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Heavy Angst, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Sexual Content, Physical Abuse, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:41:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25837456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herwhiteknight/pseuds/herwhiteknight
Summary: In the middle of the night, Blake makes a vow - to leave behind the things that hurt and to accept the things that heal. If broken ribs can mend themselves in their own time, then maybe Blake's soul can eventually follow suit.
Relationships: Ilia Amitola/Blake Belladonna, Pyrrha Nikos/Yang Xiao Long
Comments: 10
Kudos: 43





	Breathe Again

**Author's Note:**

> The worst of the Adam grossness is mostly confined to the beginning of the chapter, just to make that very clear. And he gets what's coming to him later, I promise!
> 
> Also if anyone likes to listen to music while they read, I made up a playlist on spotify which can be found here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2q5MMsLghPG3uqWHX5FNj6?si=8fadxRxGSrWEChRJjA6ClA
> 
> Enjoy! It's my first time writing the catmeleon dynamic so lemme know how you think I did! :)

"-didn't do anything! Adam, I swear, please-"

"Shut your _fucking_ mouth!" Adam roars at her, grabbing her by the arm and hauling her out of bed. She tries to resist - it’s an immediate mistake. He shoves her again, out into the hallway now.

It's past 1AM. They'd just returned home from a club and Adam had seemed in good spirits. After collapsing into bed, he'd tucked her into his chest, smoothing her hair in a lazy sort of way. 

Then he'd frozen. And demanded that she tell him who the guy she'd been chatting with was.

Blake suppresses another chill at the thought of his ice-like tone. She glances up. He hasn't advanced on her - not yet. So, beyond foolishly, she tries to explain yet again. "I didn't know him. He walked up to me, and offered to buy me a drink - he was just being friendly because he thought I was alone, but I said no-"

That did it. "Alone?" he snarls. " _You_?" He steps towards her, his hand at her arm again. "As if it's so easy for you to forget about me, is that it?!"

"Adam, no - that's not true! Please, I-" Blake begs, wincing as his grip tightens. She knows that there will be bruises.

"You were just _waiting_ for any opportunity to get away from me, weren't you?!" He's demanding, in her face, pushing his body up against hers.

She hits a wall. She barely avoids cracking her skull against it. "Please… stop," she whimpers. "I'm sorry."

"You're so selfish, you know that?" he grabs a fistful of her hair, yanks her around and tosses her out into the kitchen. 

There's shards of glass on the floor from a cup that Adam had carelessly dropped not twenty minutes ago - Blake's attempt at getting him to drink some water before they'd laid down for the night. Disoriented, Blake falls on her side - and feels glass cut into her arms and hands. "I won't ever do it again, Adam, I promise! Please, just stop…"

Adam kicks her, sneering. "As if I can trust that," he says. "How many times have you said that to me before? And I kept believing you? Because I was sure you loved me."

“I…,” the words catch in her throat and she feels like she’s choking on them. Maybe now, maybe finally, he’ll let her go - one way or the other.

“You can't even _say it_ back to me?!" he bellows. "You're such an ungrateful bitch - I've given you _everything_! And this is how you repay me?"

Blake winces, dragging herself upright and putting a hand to her ribs. They don't feel broken - not yet at least. If she can just avoid-

"Have you _nothing_ to say?!" he growls, kicking her again. Hard. Blake shields herself just a little too late, and the breath gets knocked out of her. "You're fucking pathetic!"

Blake feels tears streaming down her cheeks. Oh. She had been crying? She lifts a hand to her cheek, detached curiosity catching wetness on her fingertips. She stares at the droplets, lost for a moment.

…

Adam's heel rams into her stomach, and there's a distinctive _crack_ to the impact this time. "You're nothing but a coward! You can't even get up and defend yourself."

Pain flares across Blake's chest and she comes back into herself with a gasp - which spreads white hot agony through her whole torso. Truly, she ends up welcoming it. It gives her something to focus on, an anchor. A purpose. 

_Escape_. 

"You're _wrong_ ," Blake barely hisses out through clenched teeth. As if through slow motion, she watches him pull his foot back for another strike - and takes her chance. 

Every part of her burns like molten iron, but she pulls strength from somewhere she never knew of, and kicks out at Adam's foot while he's unbalanced. Something connects, though she's not entirely sure what - her ribs are screaming at her and everything is just a little too bright as the adrenaline floods through her veins to be able to discern anything outside of her own body.

All she knows is that Adam has crumpled to the ground with a shuddering thud. Just this once, Blake is grateful for his inebriation. He groans, starts to stir, but Blake pulls herself from the floor before he gets a chance to move and hobbles out the front door, an arm wrapped around her chest. 

She’s out. But not free. Adam will be right behind her as soon as he’s on his feet again, refusing to let her go. After all, he _owns_ her.

She’s still moving as quickly as she can as all these thoughts race through her head - and it takes her a moment for her to realize that her muscle memory is actually taking her somewhere safe. She recognizes the dented mailbox as she turns a corner and crosses the street, hastening her pace now that she’s consciously aware of her destination. Ilia’s. Her best friend. Safety.

She just has to make it there without passing out first.

In the near ten minutes it takes to limp to the nearest bus stop, Blake nearly reconsiders her plan of action. Any minute now, Adam will be right behind her, blinded by rage and consumed by one goal - to bring her back under his thumb and remind her who’s _really_ in control. And Blake, stumbling along with the barest semblance of a plan, could be leading him right to Ilia.

But she's already made it this far, she can't stop now. She just has to hope that she’ll lose him by getting on public transit. Adam had never found out where Ilia had ended up moving to after the accident, so as long as no one noticed her, everything would be alright.

“Excuse me,” a voice calls out to her as she tries to slip quietly onto the bus. It’s late enough that there aren’t any people on board aside from her and the bus driver - who had just called out to her. 

_Great._

Blake flinches, unable to suppress the automatic reaction, before turning slowly back to the driver. “Yes?” she says, ducking her head slightly when she sees that the driver - an elderly woman with silver hair and a pair of thick rimmed coke-bottle glasses - has left the bus doors wide open.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” she says, her voice scratchy in a way that’s grating and demanding. Blake winces, knowing exactly what the woman is getting at before she even taps impatiently on the receptacle meant for bus fare. 

She knows she doesn’t have any money. The only reason she even still has her shoes on is because Adam had pulled her into bed without giving her a chance to get undressed - but luckily she had worn flats, along with a sensible skirt and dress shirt, to the club that night. Heels would’ve been a nightmare. “I… um,” she starts, flinching again at the sound of a loud dog barking in the neighbourhood just outside. 

The woman frowns at her in a moment of consideration, then sighs as she pulls the lever to swing the doors shut. A small breath of relief escapes Blake’s lips as the bus starts rolling once more. “Thank you,” she murmurs, sinking right down onto the floor, too much in pain to bother moving a few steps to the nearest seat.

“I can see that you’re in some kind of trouble,” the woman starts, forthright and blunt. “And I have a feeling that it’s not the kind of trouble I want on my bus.”

Blake just nods, exhausted. Her head tips back and thunks against the bus wall as a fresh wave of pain hits her chest. She thinks of Adam, picturing a little too easily the things he would do to the bus driver for simply being in the way. 

If Blake’s eyes had been open, she would’ve seen the look of concern shot her way through the rearview mirror. All she picks up on is another sigh. “This is my last loop for the night,” the woman says, and Blake cracks an eye open just in time to catch her reaching up and flicking a switch to indicate that the route is out of service. “So I could very well take you to the end of the line, or wherever you were hoping to get off or what have you,” she says, pulling up at a traffic light. 

“My stop is coming up shortly,” Blake nods, glancing upwards out past the windshield to note the street number. She knows how to get to Ilia’s using this route by heart - but the darkness is always disorienting. And the pain is making simple thoughts a struggle. 

“I wasn’t asking a question, girl,” the woman barks in a way that isn’t mean, but makes Blake flinch once again all the same. _If only she could stop reacting that way_. Softer, the driver continues, “I was wondering if I should be taking you to a hospital.”

Blake freezes. No. _No._ Her emergency contact was Adam, it had always been Adam - his way of finding her easily if she’d ran after getting injured during his fits of rage. 

_Can’t go to the hospital. Can’t…_

…

“Girl!” the driver says again, and her voice is jarring, but it doesn’t throw her into an immediate panic after being yanked out of a dissociative state. Rather, it gives her a grounding point. So she focuses on it. “What’s your name?”

“I…,” Blake starts, distrust filling her lungs all over again. The woman seems nice enough, but the less anyone knows about her or her whereabouts, the better. “Rose,” she says instead, the first thing that comes to mind.

The old woman harrumphs, like she doesn’t believe her - but she lets her keep her anonymity. “Well, if we’re lying to each other, why don’t you tell me how you aren’t injured at all?”

Blake frowns, chances another glance out the window. She pulls herself up slowly, her grip white-knuckled against the vertical bars meant for standing-room passengers. “My stop is next,” she just says, her breath coming out in a painful hiss. 

The woman nods, easing up on the gas to bring the bus to a slow crawl, then an eventual stop - as opposed to a jarring halt. Blake appreciates her for that. She pulls the lever, the door swings open. She doesn’t say anything other than to nod towards the door, a passing farewell.

Blake hesitates. Glances back. “You’ve been kind,” Blake murmurs, feeling herself shake from pain. From panic. She needs to leave. “If a man with red hair and a scar down his cheek ever finds you, call the police.”

She starts to gingerly step down onto the sidewalk - she’d forgotten in her momentary rest just how sharp the pain was. “If that man did these things to you, I won't be calling the police,” she says, and Blake catches a look of steel flashing across her expression as she turns to watch the bus pull away. “The world would be better off without bullies like him.”

Blake nods, solemn. And wishing she had the power to do something about it. 

“You’ll give him hell one day, girl,” she calls out, and Blake can almost believe the triumphant victory in her words. 

The thing is, she doesn’t want anything to do with him anymore. She just wants him gone. But she nods anyway before turning away and heading down the sidewalk towards Ilia’s house. 

As she walks, she passes underneath pools of light from the streetlamps over head and ducks her head each time, irrationally afraid that if her face were made visible in the light that Adam would somehow materialize in front of her. But the light is the lesser of two evils - the thought of trying to cloak herself in darkness is _worse._ Because that’s where he lives in her head.

Eventually Blake spots Ilia’s house and a rush of relief finally floods through her with the strength of one word - _safety._ It feels a little strange still, walking up the driveway and in through the back gate and not seeing planter boxes of gorgeous flower arrangements lining the walkway. Ilia still hadn’t been able to bring herself to continue her mother’s work since that day. Ever since Ilia had moved back into her parents’ place after living on her own for more than three years, the house stood practically unchanged.

Rounding to the back door, Blake curses quietly when she realizes that she doesn’t have her phone on her. Unable to text, she slumps against the side of the house and knocks as loudly as she dares. In her anxious mind, it sounds like canon blasts. 

“Ilia, please…,” Blake begs under her breath, peering in through the glass doorfront, and catching sight of the distorted front hallway. “Please, please please….” She knocks again, a little louder. Then dares to try the doorbell.

She waits, sinking further and further against the wall as waves of pain crash against her. It’s a miracle she’s even gotten this far, really. But if she can just get a chance to rest-

Muted footsteps sound just past the door, and Blake watches Ilia’s fragmented portrait draw closer. A pause just on the other side - but the door immediately flies open when Ilia identifies who’s at her doorstep. “Blake! I - what are you _doing_ here?” Ilia gapes, taking in the image of Blake crumpled against her doorframe.

Blake belatedly realizes that she must look absolutely dreadful. “Please, I just need-”

“Questions later,” Ilia says decisively, stepping out only enough to wrap her arm around her shoulders to support her and guide her inside. “You look like you could use a cup of tea.”

“No!” Blake half-shouts as Ilia reaches for the kitchen light. “Don’t turn it on,” she falls back to a whimper, trembling in Ilia’s hold. “ _He can’t know._ ”

Ilia goes deadly still, and her grip on Blake’s shoulder tightens. Thankfully enough, that’s the unbruised shoulder. “What did he do to you this time?” Ilia hisses out, her anger barely controlled. 

Blake shakes her head, too exhausted to explain. “I just…. I need to lay down, okay? That’s all.” She drops her head to Ilia’s shoulder, allowing more of her weight to fall on Ilia’s sturdy frame, and she whispers out a quiet, “Please?”

The tension uncoils from Ilia’s body, anger loosening from her grip. After a moment, an acquiescence. “But you’re not walking another step,” Ilia continues, leaning down just slightly and sliding an arm under her knees and lifting her in an impossibly gentle bridal carry. “Is this okay?” she asks. There’s a tremor in her voice, but Blake’s too tired to identify it.

She hums, settling her arms loosely around Ilia’s shoulders, taking care not to shift too much to send pain flaring through her ribcage. She closes her eyes, feeling peace settle her heart as Ilia walks them to her bedroom and gently deposits her on the bed. It’s still warm from Ilia’s slumber, and Blake turns just a little, buries her nose amongst the sheets and banishes her fear. 

Above her, Ilia laughs. “Okay weirdo. You like the smell of my laundry detergent, or something?”

“It smells like home,” is all Blake can reply. 

Maybe she shouldn’t’ve said it. She blinks up as she hears Ilia pull in a sharp breath - shock? surprise? - and wonders if Ilia is now angry with her. Blake, at least, still had her parents. Blake could’ve gone to see them any time she liked - except that she was a coward. But at least her parents still lived.

But Ilia just sinks down on her bed, gently nudging Blake’s feet out of the way to make space, and lays a warm hand on her calf. Blake focuses on the touch. “We’ve had a lot of good memories in this house, huh?”

Blake wants to shift, to curl into Ilia’s side. To nod and say something like _yes._ Something like _I’ve lived under these sheets my whole life_. All she can do instead is hum - and even that sends a spike of pain through her ribs. She tries to suppress a groan of pain -

To no avail. Ilia catches on easily. It’s part of the reason Blake loves her so much, because she _notices_ , she sees, she understands. She catalogues Blake the way a historian would, taking in every detail as if precious. 

“How bad is it?” Ilia asks, gentle as she sinks down beside Blake, sharing the pillow with her like when they were kids. Like when they were messy teenagers kissing for the first time because they had no one else. 

Blake shakes her head, unwilling to get into it. She doesn’t want Ilia to be upset more than she already is - but that’s not the entire reason. Ilia’s warmth is all around her, beside her, under her, _surrounding_ her. It’s heady, intoxicating, and Blake can’t exactly remember why she’d let them drift apart in the first place. Because suddenly, Ilia is here, Ilia has stopped the world for her - and she’s _beautiful_.

So when Blake finds herself surging forward to kiss her, she can’t even find it in herself to be surprised. 

She thinks about how maybe she’d loved her all along, in some small, scared kind of way. The attraction had been there from the outset, there had been a pull - and it wasn’t something Ilia shied away from at all. She’d been so gentle, so kind, hesitant in the way that offered boundaries and wanted nothing but the best for Blake. She thinks about the way that she’s always admired Ilia’s beauty, thinks about her soft smile and pretty eyes-

Then Ilia moans into her mouth, and Blake stops thinking entirely.

Which is why it comes as a shock when Ilia pulls away, her hands resting on Blake’s shoulders, an insistent bridge. “Blake,” she says in that husky way of hers, and it’s made even _more_ pronounced by the desire bleeding past her lips. 

At no point during this whole encounter, since knocking on her door and burying her face in Ilia’s sheets, has Blake been thinking logically. All she knows is a blank need that begs her whole body to keep kissing her. “I know you still have feelings for me,” she breathes, stretching forward again. But Ilia resists her advance, locking her elbows as she keeps a grip firm against Blake’s shoulders. 

It’s only then that Blake realizes that she absolutely fucked up. 

“Ilia, oh my god, I - I’m _so_ sorry, I didn’t...” Blake stammers, twisting in on herself in her shame - and the agony in her ribs only furthers to make her mistakes abundantly clear. Everything is sharp and agonizing, and she’s going to lose her best friend over this - her best friend who had respected her boundaries when she’d told her that she was dating Adam, her best friend who told her that she was still in love with her, but was always going to be there for her no matter what, even though Blake could tell that it hurt her - _how could she be so selfish? She didn’t even think-_

“Hey,” Ilia calls through the fog, reaching out and touching underneath her chin softly, bringing her face up level with Ilia’s once more. “Just look at me, okay?”

Blake does, she looks and almost drowns because she sees the way her lips are kiss-swollen underneath her eyes. Shame sweeps over her. “You’re angry,” Blake says as a statement, not a question. Because Adam had always been angry, Blake had only ever known angry, why would this be any different?

Ilia shakes her head. “Please don’t do that.”

“Do… what?” 

“Tell me what I’m feeling before I’ve had a chance to explain,” Ilia murmurs, sliding a gentle touch down Blake’s back, encouraging her to pull out of herself, to unwind. To breathe. 

“So then… you’re _not_ angry?” Blake has to clarify out loud, has to ask - but there’s a small hiss of breath drawing into her lungs, her muscles tensing just a little. Questions were dangerous. Questions were _always_ punished.

“I’m not,” Ilia nods carefully, tucking Blake’s hair behind her ear in a soothing motion. Over and over again. Ilia used to have nightmares - maybe she still did, Blake was never around to know anymore - and she told Blake that this was the only thing that held her together. Her fingertips linger by Blake’s earlobe, curious and enraptured. “I won’t lie - I _do_ still have feelings for you, and gods, how I’ve thought about kissing you again. But something happened to you, Blake. And you’re so fragile right now, I just… I don’t want you to regret any of this.”

Blake bites her lip, fighting watery eyes. But she hears Ilia’s words, understands them. Knows that she’s right. So she nods too, wiping away tears before they have a chance to fall. “You’re right, of course. I just… I wanted to know how it felt. For once.”

Blake hadn’t noticed that Ilia had gotten closer until she feels Ilia’s whole body tremble against hers. Ilia’s lips part, a hitch of breath lifts her chest, like diver about to take the plunge. “How _what_ feels, Blake?” she asks, not at all unaware of the direction they were taking.

Blake can see it, that acknowledgement in Ilia’s eyes, that patience. _I’ll wait for you if you’re not ready._ And Blake’s ready, she knows she is - maybe she’s always been. “How it feels…,” Blake starts, a little unsteady because she’s so used to hiding. “To be touched by someone who _actually_ cares about me.”

Hearing it out loud breaks Ilia’s heart even more than Blake’s expression could ever say. “Are you sure?” she asks again, one more time. Just to be sure. She stills herself, holds, and waits for Blake to come to her.

“Show me,” she begs. “ _Please_.”

Ilia is careful. Blake can tell by the way that Ilia cradles her in her arms that she knows that Blake is injured, _bad._ But when she initiates the kiss again, it's filled with fire and passion - and it tastes like years of feelings that were missed out on.

"Here," Ilia murmurs, pushing gently at Blake's shoulders - a guidance rather than a deterrent this time. Ilia wiggles into a new position, settles herself so that Blake's knees straddle Ilia's waist from above and slides her hand to the back of Blake's neck.

Her fingers feel reverent as they tangle in Blake's hair, and she takes a moment to stare down at Ilia beneath her as she braces her hands on either side of Ilia's head. Her ribs ache a little in protest of the shoulder placement, but it's bearable. There are so many other thoughts and sensations to distract her now. "How often have you dreamed about this?" Blake murmurs, more to herself as a quiet wonder than anything else.

"You on top of me?" Ilia blurts, then immediately goes scarlet. 

Blake laughs, unable to subdue the expression before it hits her ribcage. But even after, she can't stop herself. Ilia had always had her way of making Blake feel like the best version of herself - free and so very light. "Me returning feelings for you," she amends - though can't deny just how badly Ilia's statement affects her whole body.

"Well," Ilia begins, clearing her throat. It's a point of reset for them both - except Blake is still very distracted by a low throb that has overtaken her down below. "I'd honestly have to say… always."

"I've always thought about you," Blake replies, piggy-backing off of the statement as she follows her own train of thought. Somehow, the tracks feel parallel, like Blake is watching Ilia on another train travelling the same speed and bound to the same destination. "Even with Adam… _especially_ then. But I don't… I don't think I knew that I loved you. Not until now."

Ilia lets out a low gasp, the warmth of her breath ghosting across Blake's cheek. "I… I was never quite sure," she admits, a small frown tugging at her lips. Blake's gaze is drawn back to them once again as Ilia continues, "I had always hoped so, but…. He has so much control over you-"

"Had," Blake corrects strongly. It takes effort to get the word out with the venom she wants - but it's effort she wants to give.

A flash of something - _admiration? pride?_ \- sets Ilia's eyes alight. "Had," she nods.

"Ilia, I'm serious," Blake says firmly, settling down on her haunches over Ilia's hips. She tugs gently on Ilia's arms as they rest naturally around her waist, guiding her upright so that they're now front-to-front, Blake's legs caging Ilia's torso. "I'm never going back to him, I swear. This is the last time he's ever going to hurt me again." 

Ilia pauses, lifts her hand to Blake’s face and gently thumbs away the bright tears that have gathered at the corners of her eyes, collecting them against her skin before they have a chance to fall. “I know,” she responds, then leans in again. 

Blake meets her without hesitation, and gets lost in the feel of her lips. It’s like nothing she’s ever experienced, the feeling of love seeping into her skin from every single one of Ilia’s touches. Guilt would be raging through her veins if it wasn’t driven away by Ilia’s unrelenting compassion. _You should’ve let her in before, she would’ve been so good to you, she could’ve given you everything-_

But Ilia’s touching her, fingertips tracing lines across the angle of her jaw, burning down the column of her neck, deft fingers pulling apart buttons on Blake’s blouse. A second too late, Blake realizes-

Ilia’s hands still as she spots the bruises. She brushes the lightest of touches against Blake’s ribs, and gooseflesh skitters after the sensation as she explores. Ilia ducks her head a little to inspect the patchwork, and she’s seeing damage that Blake herself hasn’t even investigated. She had been so focused on getting away. On making it to safety. Making it to _Ilia_.

“ _I’m going to kill that bastard with my bare hands_.”

Ilia’s head is still bowed so Blake can’t see her expression. But she can feel the shake start against her skin as Ilia’s hands quiver against her ribcage, can hear the venom in her voice. It almost freezes the air in Blake’s lungs, shatters the strength of her heartbeat. _But Ilia would never hurt her, no, of course not. Why, then, was she so terrified?_

“You’re angry.” This statement is true, it has to be, Blake has seen anger too many times at a distance such as this, with a false mask of intimacy to make it beautiful - it all rings the same, it overwhelms, closes in-

“Of _course_ I’m angry, Blake!” Ilia half-shouts, her head shooting up to glare into Blake’s eyes. “He _hurt_ you, he touched you like something he _owned_ , to do whatever-”

Blake snaps her eyes shut a second too late - the image of anger contorting Ilia’s face burned somewhere dark in the back of her mind. “ _Please don’t_ ,” she whimpers, back in the kitchen with Adam, feeling glass cut through her hands once again.

She had forgotten about that. Her white shirt was probably ruined now, not unusual. Just something she’d have to replace. Always replacing…

…

“Blake? Shit, _shit_ I didn’t mean to - I swear, I never should’ve, I… I’m so sorry I yelled, Blake, please! Just… talk to me? Can you hear me, I’m so-”

Ilia was crying. _Is_ crying. Her eyes track the tears streaming down Ilia’s face intently. _Adam never cried. Adam never cared_. “I…,” she sucks in a rattling breath, feels it take up residence in a chest that’s so broken in so many ways. “I’m alright.”

“Oh gods,” Ilia whimpers, throws her arms messily around Blake’s shoulders, kisses her hair. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you like that, I just… seeing you hurt like this, it… I just saw red. You’re so beautiful, so _so_ beautiful - and he never should’ve touched you like that.”

Blake laughs humorlessly, wrapping her arms around Ilia’s back - but not before lifting her palm to look at the cuts from before. Superficial, the blood already mostly congealed. “I was so stupid to believe that he loved me, wasn’t I?”

“You weren’t,” Ilia says, mirroring Blake’s strength from earlier and giving it back to her. “I didn’t realize it at first either. I think that’s what he wanted. He knew you were too smart to show his true colours right away.”

“He… _manipulated_ me,” Blake breaks. “He took me away from you, I… I _let_ him take me away from you.”

“That’s _not_ true,” Ilia says fiercely, burying Blake in her arms, tucking her head against her chest. Blake’s lips find skin past the worn collar of Ilia’s favourite band tee. “I never left you - you’ve always been in my heart, no matter how far away you were from me.”

Blake lets out a muffled sob, choking on emotion. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You do. You _do_ ,” Ilia repeats, pulling back, tucking Blake’s hair behind her ear. Again and again and again. “Please… Blake. You’re worth so much, okay? Just let me show you.”

When they kiss again, there’s no room for air. There’s no need for it, no need for something that once brought her fear and pain with every inhale. Maybe one day, maybe in the near future, Blake will be able to breath in freedom. Maybe she’ll fill her lungs with hope. Joy.

Love. _Real_ love.

For now, Ilia is simply touching her. Exploring her. Dancing with her. Her lips find Blake’s neck and she’s careful not to bruise - Blake has so many of them already. She blindly frees the last few buttons of Blake's blouse, too busy drinking in the sight of Blake’s hair tumbling down her back as she tosses her head back. A low moan escapes Blake’s lips as Ilia’s kisses press into her collarbone.

“You deserve this,” Ilia says, nudging Blake’s blouse off her shoulders, fully exposing her torso aside from her black bralette. “And this.” She skims across Blake’s ribs, tracing around to her back so she can undo the clip of her bra. It falls free and Ilia replaces the cloth with a covering of her own, slipping her palms over her breasts, teases her thumbs over nipples. “You deserve _all_ of this. And more.”

Blake gasps, walls down and ecstasy building. For a moment, she sees herself allowing light in, a ray of happiness shining down on her exposed chest - and she’s not afraid at all.

“She deserves _nothing_. What she’s done to me is enough proof of that.”

“ _N_ _o_ ….”

Like slow-motion, Blake watches Ilia shift her gaze to look over her shoulder, even as she’s unable to move herself. _He’s not there. He’s not real. He can’t have found me_. 

But Ilia’s paling expression is enough for Blake to know that she’s just lying to herself.

“You must think you’re so very clever, my love,” Adam drawls, and Blake can hear his voice drawing closer. But the words are distorted, as if everything is underwater. “Running away like that-”

Ilia finally recovers. “Not another step closer,” she warns, sliding out from under Blake’s legs, readying for a fight. 

Adam’s laugh chills down her spine, the way it always does. _No, no no…._

_No_.

She knows that she’s locking up. She can feel herself freezing in terror. Everything is so far away, even her own body. She watches, mute, as Ilia pulls further away across the bed. She looks like she has a plan. Not like Blake could help her anyway.

“I said _not another step_ -!”

A cold hand settles on Blake’s shoulder, close against her neck. Adam laughs again. “And just _what_ were you hoping to accomplish, exactly?” His grip tightens. Blake can feel his fingers pressing against the pulse in her neck. _Ilia had kissed her there. Ilia had been so gentle._ She tries to focus on that. “As if someone like _you_ could ever compare to me.”

“Someone like me?” Ilia asks, and, oddly enough, her tone is distracted. _She’s stalling_ , Blake realizes.

“A faggot. A dyke. You’re all worthless anyway.”

“This _dyke_ was about to fuck her better than you could ever even imagine,” Ilia scoffs as she reaches slowly behind herself to her bedside table. “Not that your imagination would amount to much.”

Inexplicably, Blake bursts out into laughter. She’s lightheaded from panic, but the absurdity of Ilia’s statement just pushes her over the top, and she can’t help herself. Some small part of her mind balks at the irrationality of the response, but she's too busy giggling to care. “She’s right, honestly.”

Adam roars and grabs her arm without warning. “Blake’s _mine_ ,” he snarls, yanking viciously at an awkward angle. Blake stumbles along to avoid another injury, so easily shut down in the face of his rage once again. “And I’m taking her home.”

“She already _is_ home,” Ilia snaps somewhere off to the side. Blake can’t see her anymore because Adam has already dragged her out into the hall. _Just call the police. Don’t do anything stupid Ilia, please-_

She hears several quick footsteps behind her, an echoing shriek as Ilia charges. Then-

The sick slick sound of a knife tearing through flesh.

Adam screams in pain, dropping Blake instinctively. She hits the ground with a dull thud, but by now she barely feels it. She barely feels anything. “I think I’m going into shock,” Blake mumbles out loud, slumping against the wall. 

“Blake - hey, c’mon,” Ilia kneels before her, slapping at her cheeks lightly. “Stay focused, okay? I’m going to call for help.”

Just over Ilia’s shoulder, Blake sees Adam rise slowly. He growls, reaching behind himself to make a grab for the knife that Ilia had stuck in his back. Blake lifts her arm slowly to point, to give a warning, but she’s moving too sluggishly to be of any help.

Adam rips out the serrated butterfly knife with a grunt. Then he laughs again. “Thank you,” he says. “For giving me an excuse to kill you.”

Blake watches Adam flip the knife between his fingers and feels powerless. Blake watches Ilia turn from her, fists lifted in self-defence. But Adam has a knife, and Blake _knows_ how deadly he is with such things. There’s no way Ilia stands any chance at all.

She’s about to watch her best friend die. And it’ll be all her fault. Like everything always is.

“I’m not scared of you,” she declares fiercely, setting her body between them as a shield. Blake tries her best to tamp down on the feeling of love that swells in her heart at Ilia’s unflinching bravery - it’ll only make grieving harder.

“Oh,” he smirks darkly. “I don’t care.”

“Ilia… please,” Blake rasps, tugging weakly on her shirt. “Just let him take me. He’ll kill you.”

Ilia doesn’t turn. Doesn’t say anything. There’s a resolute set to her shoulders that speak louder than words - she’s willing to die if it means protecting Blake.

Adam pauses, curiously tipping his head so he can see Blake shaking on the floor just behind Ilia. “She can’t mean that much to you,” he sneers, but he’s lowered the knife. Just a little. 

“Don’t hurt her,” she says, managing to prop herself up against the wall so she can see Adam more clearly. “I’ll go with you if you leave her alone. _For good_.”

Adam scoffs. But nods. He wipes the blood from the knife onto his sleeve before folding it back up and tucking it into his pocket. Then he holds out his hand, ignoring the way that Ilia cries out in protest. “Let’s go home, darling,” he says, soft. It’s almost too easy to pretend that he hadn’t cracked her ribs not a few hours ago.

“I can’t let him hurt you too,” Blake smiles weakly over at Ilia, trying to catch her attention one last time. Adam will never let her out of his sight again after this.

Again, Ilia doesn’t acknowledge her. Doesn’t move. She’s gone deathly still, and Blake briefly wonders if she’s given up. Blake’s chosen to stay with Adam. The way she has time and time before. Blake’s heart breaks at the thought of the betrayal that must be running through Ilia’s veins at this very moment. 

She takes Adam’s hand, and lets him lead her to the door.

“I don’t need a knife to hurt you,” Ilia growls.

Adam turns a split second too late as Ilia launches herself at him, landing on his back and sending them all to the floor. Before his has a chance to recover, Ilia has her arms wrapped around his neck in a practiced chokehold. “Go call for help,” she instructs Blake firmly, barely seeming winded as she keeps Adam pinned underneath her with her knees.

“I-” Blake starts, scared to leave her behind, no matter how in control she looks.

“Go!” Ilia urges.

Blake finally does, stumbling out the front door and down Ilia’s driveway. Without a cell phone, she’s completely at a loss. She heads to one of the neighbouring houses, out of options and praying that they’re friendly. 

She frantically hammers on the front door, pressing her whole palm into the doorbell, creating a cacophony of an alarm. “Hello?!” she screams, as loudly as her hoarse lungs allow. “Is anyone home, please! We need help, please, if anyone’s awake-!”

The door swings open and a beleaguered red headed woman appears. She takes in Blake’s appearance with wide eyes before immediately trying to usher her inside. “My goodness,” she says, gently taking her by the wrist. “Is everything-?”

Blake shakes her head, resisting the overly polite offer. “I need you to call the police, please, my ex is attacking my best friend,” she explains in a rush, gesturing to Ilia’s house where the front door is clearly hanging wide open. She can hear Adam yelling again, but can’t make out any other sounds of distress. She needs to get back, she has to-

“Pyrrha dear, what’s-” Another voice drifts from the interior of the house. Female. A mop of yellow hair pokes out around the door frame and Blake flinches in on herself at the sight of another unexpected unfamiliar face. 

“Yang, call the police,” the woman, Pyrrha, instructs in a way that leaves no room for questions. “Tell them that there has been an assault at our neighbour’s house and that we need an ambulance.”

Blake watches Pyrrha direct the woman back into the house with a firm nudge before she gets a chance to step much further outside. Blake’s beyond grateful for that. But Ilia is still alone with Adam. “I have to…,” she tries, starting to hobble away.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Pyrrha catches her attention with the soft question and the even softer way she wraps her red housecoat around Blake’s bare torso. _Oh_ …. she’d forgotten…. Ilia had kissed her, touched her…. It felt like years ago.

“My best friend, I… I can’t leave her alone with him….”

“Then come with me,” Pyrrha says, leaning back inside the house as she grabs something from behind the door. A long hunting rifle appears in her arms, and she settles it into the crook of her arm like she knows how to use it. “Don’t worry,” she reassures when she catches Blake’s eyes staring in fear. “It’s not loaded.”

“Adam doesn’t scare easily,” is all Blake can say even as she hastens her steps back towards Ilia’s house. 

“From the looks of it, neither do you,” Pyrrha replies gently. Her voice is kind, and Blake finds herself feeling a measure of peace in her presence.

Blake pauses just on the walkway leading up to the front door, catching the sound of… silence. No sounds of struggle, or distress. Did Adam…? “Ilia!” she screams, running the last few feet as Pyrrha covers her back. 

“I’m alright!” Ilia’s voice comes from inside.

Relief washes over Blake as she steps into the house and feels for the light to get a better look at the scene. Bright artificial light floods the front entry and Blake blinks against the harshness of it - she’d been in darkness the entire time at Ilia’s. 

She takes in the sight before her as Pyrrha gasps softly behind her. “He’s still breathing,” Ilia says grimly as she continues to kneel on Adam’s back, just in case. “But he couldn’t put up too much of a fight once I’d had him in that chokehold.”

“Ilia, you…,” Blake murmurs, in awe before rushing in and kissing her without reservations. “I… I can’t believe you did this!”

“That’s in a good way, right?” Ilia laughs a little nervously.

“Yes, yes yes, of course it is,” Blake grins, wrapping her arms around her and pulling her into a tight hug, then wincing a second later at the sharp pain in her ribs. “Oh… oops,” she mumbles, collapsing onto the ground as she sees stars.

"Blake?!" Ilia asks worriedly.

"M'ok…," Blake mumbles. "Just a little dizzy.. that's all."

“An ambulance is on its way right now,” Pyrrha says, stepping slowly into the house with her hand, the one that’s not still gripping the empty rifle, held up in the air non-threateningly. 

Ilia narrows her eyes at the newcomer, squinting for a long moment until vague recognition dawns across her face. “You’re my neighbour, right?” 

“Pyrrha,” she nods. “I would say that it’s a pleasure to finally officially meet you, however…”

Ilia’s lips twist wryly. “Yeah. The circumstances aren’t great.”

“An understatement,” she chuckles lightly. She clears her throat after a moment. “Do you have any first aid? I think it would be best to wrap her ribs as soon as possible.”

“How do you know about her ribs?”

Pyrrha blushes lightly, folding her arms in mild embarrassment. “When she came knocking on our door for help she was…ah, well. In a state of undress.”

Ilia’s jaw drops open slightly as her whole face flushes red. “Oh uh… right,” she coughs awkwardly. “Um… my bad.”

Pyrrha just quirks an eyebrow at her.

“Y’know what,” Ilia chuckles nervously. “Why don’t you just… keep an eye on this asshole and I’ll go get that first aid.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Pyrrha says, stepping in closer with the rifle.

Ilia stares. “You uh… know how to use that thing?”

“It’s not loaded,” she reassures once again. “But yes, I do. And if he comes to while you’re fetching the supplies, the butt end of the rifle works quite nicely as a bludgeon.”

Ilia blinks. Stares a little more. “Hot,” she finally says, then shakes her head. “I’ll be right back.”

“Y’know… if you shot him,” Blake starts up suddenly, still looking a little dazed. Pyrrha shifts her gaze over to Blake on the ground as she positions herself in such a way that she can deliver a sharp blow to Adam’s head if needed. “The world would be… like, at least a million times better of a place. Because he’s a _dick_.”

Pyrrha’s expression softens as she takes in the state of that poor girl. “You’re so very brave, you know,” she says softly as she watches Blake slowly pull herself up to a seated position, wrapping her arms around steepled knees and burying her fingers in the soft material of Pyrrha’s robe.

“I don’t feel anything like that at all,” Blake murmurs, shaking her head. Sirens start up in the distance and get closer. Blake flinches in response, automatic and hateful. “See?” she laughs at herself, ugly. Everything feels ugly. 

Everything except Ilia.

Pyrrha allows silence to fall, knowing that it’s far from her place to speak up on circumstances that she’s not involved in. She only hopes that, one day, this girl who has borne so much trauma and pain will eventually find healing for herself in the arms of someone who loves her.

“Here,” Ilia’s voice comes drifting down from the hallway, and she appears from the gloom, her arms stacked with various bandages and antiseptic for Blake’s cuts. “Do you think you can stand, love?”

A surge of warmth hits Blake and it tingles down her spine. _Love_. It’s said so differently than the way Adam has ever said it, and Blake finds herself wondering if this is the first step towards healing. “I’ll need your help,” she admits, and finds that it’s another step. 

Ilia crouches down low and slides an arm across her back, under her arms, and gently helps Blake get her feet underneath herself. She guides her to the couch and lays her down just as the sirens get louder and a woman’s voice calls out loudly from the driveway.

“I’m in here, hon,” Pyrrha answers back, offering a brief wave behind herself while still keeping her focus on Adam. “My wife, Yang,” Pyrrha explains as Ilia hesitates at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. 

Yang steps into the house at Pyrrha’s nod, once Pyrrha had gotten the okay from Ilia, and takes in the scene. The way her eyes rapidly assess the situation makes Ilia guess at some kind of medical background. She bends down to check Adam’s pulse before moving on to Blake. “It’s alright,” she explains in that same soothing way as her wife. “I’m a trained nurse. I would like to assess your injuries, if that’s okay?”

Blake’s eyes flicker briefly over to Ilia’s, her uninjured hand covering Ilia’s and gripping tight. But she still nods, very slightly.

“Thank you,” she says, taking her penlight and asking Blake to follow the light with her eyes. “What’s your name?” she asks, ignoring Ilia for the moment.

“Blake,” she replies quietly after Yang clicks the light off and feels at her forehead as she checks skin temperature and whether or not she’s clammy. 

"Okay Blake," Yang says, smiling at her. Just like her wife, she's kind and it shows through her eyes, the way they crinkle at the corners as she smiles. Blake finds herself wondering how long they've been married. They seem so _warm_ together. "The good news is that you don't appear to have a concussion, though it seems that you're experiencing some symptoms of shock. It'll be best if you just stay put until the paramedics come to give you a more thorough check over. Your girlfriend can stay here with you until then, alright?"

"Uh, she's not-"

"No we're not… uh… dating."

Yang arches an eyebrow at their immediate and sputtered protests. Blake doesn't miss the exchanged look of bemusement between Yang and Pyrrha. "It's complicated," she mutters, her glance sliding past Yang's shoulder to Adam's still thankfully motionless form.

Red and blue lights flash outside their window, the siren wails now piercing for several agonizing seconds before cutting off abruptly. Car doors slam, punctuating urgent chatter and radio static. “Yeah,” Yang frowns, her expression grim. “I can understand that. I’m very sorry that you both had to go through this. Any of this.”

Ilia glances over at Blake just as a police officer steps onto the premises and begins to question Pyrrha. They both silently turn to watch as another police officer kneels down and handcuffs Adam’s hands behind his back. “It’s over now, at least,” Ilia says quietly.

Something sick twists at the pit of Blake's stomach as she watches Adam’s limp form being hauled upright. A shudder overtakes her. "He'll escape. He'll find a way back to haunt me. He always does," she whispers, shaking her head sharply.

Ilia touches Blake’s cheek gently, turning her face to catch her eyes. “If that happens, I’ll be right here, okay Blake? I’m not leaving your side.”

“You never have,” Blake replies, closing her eyes and leaning into the warmth of Ilia’s hand against her skin. She thinks about feeling that touch for the rest of her life and silently vows to do whatever it takes to never let it go.

Yang lets out a small awkward cough and they both blink over at her. “I, uh… I know we all just met, but, y’know. If there’s anything Pyrrha and I can do for you at all, well. We’re here for you both.”

“That we are,” Pyrrha chimes in, resting her hand on Yang’s shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Anything you need, just let us know,” she says as Yang turns her head to kiss Pyrrha’s fingers. There’s such a fondness there that it makes Blake's chest ache in a whole different kind of way than it had been all evening.

The feeling only grows as Ilia tucks Blake’s hair behind her ear, her thumb brushing over her earlobe again and again. “Thank you. Thank you both,” Blake replies, closing her eyes against Ilia’s soothing touch. She feels Ilia’s fingers weave through her hair and pull her close. And when Ilia presses a soft kiss against her forehead, it feels like the beginning of hope. And of life starting over again.


End file.
